After Alcohol
by prplemyth
Summary: We saw what happened at the party. We saw what happened when Burt walked in. But what happened in between? And how in the hell did Blaine end up in Kurt's bed? Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, new fandom! Hardcore Klaine shipper here – but this is my first Glee fanfic. Whee!_

_I hope no one is mad that I didn't update for "Illogical and Stupid" or "A Halfblood Wedding," I just got nommed by a plot bunny._

_Written hastily to rid myself of plot bunnies. HASTILY. Let me know if you like how I write Kurt/Klaine/Glee fanfic in general – if it turns out I'm good at this I might make it a thing! This story, if it works, will probably end up being a three chapter story._

_Read, review, enjoy!_

"He's a REALLY," said Rachel, giggling and tipping over, "Really, REALLY, good kisser, Kurt. You…You need to try that out sometime!"

"You're kind of drooly, but a good k," Blaine interrupted himself with a laugh, "Good kisser."

I could not believe I was dealing with this right now.

"I'm sure of that, Rach," I said, "Now I think the two of you have had enough."

"You haven't had anything, Kurt!" said Rachel with this garish grin on her face. I fought back a laugh – she reminded me of a gremlin or something with that look on her face.

"I had a little," I said, "but I don't think I'm a lightweight like the two of you evidently are."

Blaine closed his eyes and waved his hand. "I'm not a light – WHOOPSIE!" Blaine skidded off the stage, landing on his back. I expected him to actually be in pain, but he just started laughing hysterically. "I'm not a lightweight!" he said, clumsily getting to his feet.

"Yes, I definitely believe that now…" I said, punctuating it with an eyeroll.

"GUYS!" shouted Brittany, "Guys, we should drink more! Alcohol makes me feel like…Smart."

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"Then I want to kiss someone. ARTIE!" Brittany stumbled off into the opposite direction.

"Did she have a dollar bill in her shorts?" I asked.

"Yeah, she did," said Rachel. "I put it there. Santana glared at me though. I don't know why."

I smirked. With all the crap I got from Santana, it was all too obvious that I wasn't the only person in the room with an unrequited gay crush on someone.

"Lovely," I said, folding my arms over my chest. "Now, seriously you two, no more. It's three in the morning, we should probably be heading home to be honest."

Rachel shook her head. "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Let me get my guitar!" said Blaine. "Wait, where's my guitar?"

"Probably at your house," I said. "And why would you want your guitar?"

"I'm not home," said Blaine with this shocked look on his face.

I shook my head. "Yeah, and from the looks of you you're not going to be driving home tonight either."

"I'm," he hiccupped, "I'm fine, guys!" As if trying to refute his own point, he face planted in Quinn's chest on the couch.

"Blaine!" she shouted. "Get off!"

"S'alright," he mumbled. "Don't like those anyway."

That did it. I burst into laughter. "Oh, wow, Blaine, you're…Wow."

"My hair's all bouncy," he said, walking over to a mirror. "Whoa! I can't decide – do I like the gel better or do I like it like this?"

He pulled on my hand and pressed it onto his head. His hair was really soft without the gel, but at the moment I couldn't exactly appreciate it.

"Okay, bud," said Finn, clapping a hand on Blaine shoulder. "We're bringing you home. You're not driving today."

I looked up at Finn. "Seriously?" I asked, "You're going to drive everyone home."

Finn shrugged. "Well, I was thinking I'd cram everyone in my car and then you could drive Blaine's to our house, let him sleep on the couch or something. The girls are all staying over at Rachel's. I'll drive Puck and the other guys back to their places." He spared a small smile and leaned closer to me. "And maybe you can have some time on your own with Blaine. Maybe the two of you could get closer. I know you still like him."

"Shut up, Finn, he could hear you!"

Finn gave me another small smile. "Just head home, okay? I'll be home a little later."

"Thanks, Finn."

"No problem, little brother."

I narrowed my eyes. "By five months. And you know I'm more mature."

Finn shrugged and made his way towards Puck and Mike Chang, who were on Rachel's stage, singing "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy," at the top of their lungs.

"Blaine, let's head out."

"I want more."

"You can't have more. There," I looked around, hoping he was drunk enough to believe me, "there, uh, isn't any left."

"Yeah, there is."

I shook my head and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the beer that was dangerously close to his hand. "Nope, that's not alcohol."

He pouted, and with the hand I wasn't already holding, held up his pinky. "Pinky swear?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"Pinky swear!"

Rolling my eyes, I held out my hand. "I swear."

"Good!" His smile got brighter.

I pulled him with me and grabbed our coats, and he fell over himself walking up the stairs. Then, while pulling his coat on, he got stuck.

"Help?" he whimpered.

"Why do you become a helpless kitten when drunk?" I asked him. "And why do I think it's adorable?" I added under my breath.

"Help?" he asked again, a little more desperately, this time with a button snagged in his hair. He looked so much younger like this – confused and significantly less composed than I'd ever seen him. I adjusted his coat and buttoned him up like I would a child, and steered him by the shoulders as he walked out to the car.

I also had to help him open the door, sit on the seat, buckle himself, and I had to stop him from nearly shutting the door on his foot.

"I swear, it's like babysitting a three year old, taking care of you right now, Blaine."

"M'sorry," he said, leaning his head against the window. "Goodnight."

I drove home playing Taylor Swift, who Blaine hated and would never have let me play if he was sober or awake. Lucky for me he was neither. I, for one, was not the biggest fan of hers, but the fact that I hadn't listened to her in ages made me want to listen to her more.

And then came dragging Blaine into the house. He was still half asleep for all of this, and I would have thrown him over my shoulder in a fireman's carry if I wasn't worried he would vomit all over my new coat.

I walked up to the house and dug for my keys. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye I saw Blaine, stumbling down my walkway. For a few minutes I watched him, bemused, as I stood in the doorway, but when he started fiddling with Carole's garden gnomes I decided to put a halt to his front yard discoveries.

"Blaine, please stop poking at my gnomes."

"But they're cute!"

"You're drunk. You think everything's cute." I moved so he could walk into the door and he strutted in as if he owned the place, stretching himself out on the couch. I tried to ignore the sliver of – I swallowed hard – pale and toned skin exposed between the waistband of his pants and his cardigan as he stretched his arms over his head.

Would this guy ever make things easy for me?

Behind me, the door slammed on its own.

"Finn, you're kind of cute," slurred Blaine as he peered over the couch. Finn walked in the door and kicked off his shoes.

"See?" I said to Blaine, "You think everything's cute."

"He still drunk?" Finn asked.

"Oh, you have no idea.."

Blaine smiled. "Rachel's weird at kissing, Finn, was that a problem with the two of you?"

Both of us didn't dignify that with a response.

"Uh, do you want help with him?" Finn asked me, conversing with his shoes. "He's not exactly light as a feather. I could babysit him down here while you get the blankets."

"No!" said Blaine, shaking his head. "I'm going to get the blankets with you, least I can do."

Finn looked at the two of us skeptically. "You want me to carry him upstairs?"

I grunted as I hoisted Blaine up off of the couch. "I'm gay, Finn, not weak. I can carry him."

"Finn, don't you think he's cute?"

I rolled my eyes at Finn's uncomfortable blush. "I, uh, he's my brother, it's not –"

"Ignore him, Finn, he's more hammered than Ke$ha on a Friday night." Blaine stumbled over the carpet and took me down with him. I shoved him off of my legs, forcing down a blush as he accidentally clawed at my waist.

"Oops," he laughed. "I'm not supposed to touch there. I like kissing. And Rachel kissing was fun. I never kissed Jeremiah – he had nice hair."

"Alcohol talking for you, isn't it," I muttered.

Finn was still giving the two of us a weird look. "You're sure he isn't going to try anything weird when you're drunk?"

I laughed. "Finn, I think we'd be more worried about him trying something with your mother than with me when drunk. His level of gay decreases exponentially as his BAC increases."

"I…Don't know what that means. Is he going to hit on my mom?"

"Go to bed, Finn."

He shrugged and stumbled up the stairs ahead of me. "You sure you don't want help with him?" he asked, gesturing to the partially catatonic Blaine who was currently playing with his hair in the mirror.

"I should be fine," I sighed. "Yes, Blaine, your curls can't be tamed, I get it, now get your drunk ass upstairs."

Blaine dropped on all fours and began climbing up the stairs. When he reached my doorway by some miracle, he stood up and said, "Hey, Kurt!" he said. "Why don't we do a –"

"Blaine, shut up!" I said, shoving my hand over his mouth and glancing over to my dad and stepmom's bedroom. "They might hear you," I hissed. "And you did not just lick my hand."

I removed my hand and walked hastily to the bathroom to wash them. Blaine followed me, his hands in his pockets. "Yeah I did. You weren't moving your hand."

"That's quite…" I paused for a moment, searching for the word to describe Blaine on a normal day. "Undapper of you, Blaine."

"What?"

"You're usually dapper. You know, elegant, neat, poised. And now you're stumbling upstairs and licking my hand. It's enough to make you wonder which of these two Blaines is the real one."

"I'm tired."

"I know that. Now we have to get you some blankets so you can crash on the –"

Apparently he instead was going to curl up in my bed.

"Blaine, that's my bed."

"I know, it's comfortable. I'm tired."

"I know," I said, tapping my foot. "But you need to get up. You've got the couch tonight."

He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, a contented smile playing across his lips. "That's okay, I'll sleep here. I don't mind if you sleep in your bed too, just don't steal the covers."

I folded my arms and glared at him. This was SO not the way I expected Blaine to be sleeping in my bed the first time. My idea involved a lot less clothes and a lot less alcohol.

"Night night, Kurt."

He passed out in seconds. I couldn't decide whether to be angry at him or just amused by his nonchalance about sleeping in my bed.

"What I do for these people…" I muttered as I peeled off my jeans and shirt. In the back of my mind I half wondered if I should have helped Blaine out of his clothes and into some pajamas, but I realized that he probably would have yelled at me for being too forward or going too fast.

Once I was fully moisturized and clad in pajamas, I slid into my bed. For the first time in my life, I was entirely uncomfortable in that bed. Blaine was snoring – IN MY BED – and I honestly had no clue what he was going to say when he woke up or even if he knew what would happen when he woke up the next morning.

"Freakin' alcohol," I said, scooting to the very edge of the bed and trying to lay still. "Next time I'll be the one getting drunk."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Hello, fellow Gleeks! Thank you for all the reviews – this story got the 6__th__ highest number of hits on any of my stories EVER, and it's been up for less than a week and only has one chapter. Let's just say I pretty much died. Thank you all so much! And the amount of reviews made me clap and smile like a seven year old going to Disney._

…_Please excuse my shameless promotion of PJO, Logan Lerman and Steven Strait. : )_

_Read, review, enjoy!_

It was four thirty in the morning when I woke up to the soothing, dulcet tones of Blaine hurling his guts out in my bathroom. At first I had no clue what was happening – I just felt my mattress creak slightly and heard a door slam – but the second I heard a displeased groan I knew what was going on.

"Fantastic," I muttered. I sat up in my bed to find that I was actually cold, which was rare. I had a comforter, a fleece and a sheet on my bed. However, I'd never shared this bed before. Blaine was not a still sleeper, and he stole essentially all of my blankets. I peeled off my sheet and slid my slippers on as I stepped out of bed, shaking my head at the absolute mess that was my bedspread.

I padded my way to the bathroom, and the door creaked open. "Blaine?" I asked, my voice grumbly and low with sleep, "You okay?"

His response was a disgruntled moan. I blinked my eyes open, adjusting to the light. Blaine was curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet like it was a life boat. "Kurt, it hurts," he said, sad eyes looking up at me.

I managed a smile through my grogginess. "That would be the wine coolers, and the rum and cokes without the coke talking."

He nodded and stared at the toilet. "God, I feel awful right now."

I stepped over to my bathroom closet and pulled out a cup, filled it with water, and placed it next to Blaine. The look he gave the cup of water made me jealous. "Thank you so much, Kurt," he said. He took a greedy gulp and spat the water up in the toilet. After finishing the cup, he said, "I had a dream I was dating Logan Lerman and I woke up to this. How could reality possibly be this much worse than dreams?"

I leaned against the sink and folded my arms. "Logan Lerman?"

He nodded and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "He was a really good kisser."

I smirked. "The one from that Greek movie you made me watch, right?"

"Percy Jackson and the Olympians is an awesome movie, don't even tell me otherwise."

"You just like the shirtless guys."

Blaine shrugged and managed a small smile as he leaned up against the wall. "You watched City Island for the same reason."

I smiled down at my slippers. "Okay, fine, you've got me there. But Steven Strait looks like a Greek God."

"And Percy Jackson is actually half Greek god. Check and mate."

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, smarter than me and full of witty quips even when drunk and puking into my toilet. What can't you do, Blaine Anderson?"

Instead of answering, he gulped audibly. For a few moments he stared blankly at the wall, until he turned around and proceeded to vomit into the toilet violently for a few more moments. I rubbed his back and muttered what I hoped were helpful words until he had finished.

"More water?"

He looked up at me looking exhausted. "Yes, please," he croaked.

"You look so much worse than before."

He took the water with shaky hands. "Thanks for that, Kurt," he said in a quiet voice.

"I just meant sick."

He nodded and handed the now empty cup back to me. "And in regards to what I can't do," he said, as he lifted one arm up to me. "I can't stand. Help me up, please?" His voice was so pathetic and sad that I couldn't do anything but do what he asked. I extended his hand pulled him up. Unfortunately, he still couldn't stand and fell forward into my arms.

Catching him felt incredibly right and uncomfortable at the same time. "Um, Blaine?" I said into his ear. He winced immediately.

"Shh, don't yell at me. Can you help me get to the bed?"

I wished I could have said no. I really should have pushed him off and made him walk on his own. But the softness of his curly hair rubbing up against my cheek, his hand in mine and his arm wrapped around my waist so he could steady himself were far more convincing than my conscience.

"Come on, Blaine."

I adjusted him so my arm was around his shoulders, and his tightened around my waist. "Thanks for this, Kurt. You're…You're a really good guy."

"Hello, Alcohol," I quipped, "It seems you have returned."

"No," said Blaine as I walked him back into my bedroom. "No, I…I really mean it. Kurt, you're one of the best people I know. That's why I don't want to…I don't want to mess this up."

"What?" I asked, hastily dropping him onto the mattress. He looked severely disoriented as he face planted into my pillow and narrowly avoided smashing his face into my headboard. "What do you mean, Blaine?"

"You're," he made a contented little noise as he snuggled against the pillow, "You're a genuinely good person. And you're strong and brave and smart. And you're incredibly stylish – did you see yourself tonight?"

I chuckled. "Well, I have been saving up that outfit for a few weeks now, stuck with the uniforms and all."

"And you are never mean. You still talk to me after I told you I didn't want to mess things up, when you should have just yelled at me…"

At this point I considered myself officially confused. "Blaine, what are you even talking about?"

"You aren't mad at me for being worried about the two of us?"

I shook my head. "After everything that happened with your other bullies and what happened with Gap Guy –"

"Jeremiah."

"I'd rather call him annoying."

Blaine shrugged and pulled the blankets over his head. "Fair enough."

"I just mean that I get why you're hesitant."

Blaine nodded and closed his eyes. "I do like you though."

My heart felt like it stopped partially. "Well, yes, of course," I said, not daring to think that he might mean what I want him to mean. "We're friends and all."

Blaine opened his hazel eyes and sat up. "No, Kurt," he said, "I really, really, REALLY like you."

"Oh," was all I could say.

"I hope this doesn't make things awkward," said Blaine, languidly stretching out across my bed. He was splayed across the sheets, his limbs tangled in my bedspread, and all I could think of was how he was trying to make sure that things didn't feel awkward.

Yeah. Right.

"Awkward," I muttered, walking over to my side of the bed. "Right."

"I like you, Kurt," he mumbled into his pillow. "I promise I do. I've never…I just never had a friend like you. I'm an only child. I was really spoiled. I had so much trouble making friends because I just…" he rolled over and peered up at me. "I was really selfish. And being gay didn't make it easier. And I'm rambling again, because I'm drunk and sick and I really like you, and I don't want to risk a friend like you if we break up and it ends badly." To my surprise, he reached his hand out to me. I tentatively took it. "I don't want to lose you."

He squeezed my hand and looked up at me so innocently that I couldn't decide if the weird feeling in my chest was my heart breaking or doing our dance routine to Four Minutes.

"Blaine, I…" And that's when I realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him exactly how I felt, that I was pretty sure I was in love with him, that I knew that the two of us together would be anything but wrong, that whatever happened I don't think I'd feel any differently about him later in life. "I think we need to go back to sleep." I forced the words out, feeling the confession bubble up behind them, begging to be released. I ignored it. "It's very early in the morning and we have a lot to do tomorrow, okay?"

Blaine looked disappointed. "I'm not going to remember any of this tomorrow, am I?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Probably not." The thought almost broke my heart – he wouldn't remember his confession to me, and I couldn't risk my confession to him for two reasons. The first – if he did remember, our whole dynamic would be thrown. The second – the two of us might do something we regretted. I knew I could say no to Blaine if he wanted to do anything extensive when drunk, but I know I wouldn't be able to avoid the temptation of a simple kiss.

After Karofsky, a simple kiss with Blaine would be perfection.

I smiled down at the dark haired boy curling up on the other side of the bed, his eyes gently shut. "Blaine, go to sleep, sweetie," I murmured. I risked a gentle kiss to his temple, just to see how he would react.

He didn't.

He was already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: And here it is – the finale of After Alcohol. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and favorited! It means so much to me!_

_I also apologize for all the ridiculous references – I own none of them. Or anything Glee._

_And don't you worry – this will not be the last Klaine fic you will be getting from me!_

_However, for now, thank you, and read, review, enjoy : )_

Blaine was making a bizarre honking noise in my ear. "Shut up," I said, slapping the megaphone out of his hands, "I'm still in the middle of baking a soufflé for the queen of the Gouda Cheese race before the Clown King eats their home."

A second later, when I opened my eyes, I realized that it was my alarm on my bedside going off. Unfortunately I was pulled back to the bed when I sat up to turn it off.

"What the…?" I muttered as I looked down at my waist. I felt like someone was kicking me in the chest as I saw Blaine's arm thrown around my waist, his fingers lightly brushing my ribcage.

"B-Blaine…?" I asked. "Wa…Wake up?"

"Mumbumshirrup," he mumbled, burying his head into my chest. I froze momentarily as I tried to figure out the situation.

"Blaine, my friend, you're kind of all up in my grill at the moment." Not that I minded, but it was a little bit inappropriate. Imagine what my dad would say if he walked in right then.

"Wha? No, sleeping." Blaine rolled over and promptly rolled right off the bed. I expected him to wake up, alas, no.

He pulled the blanket over his head, curling up into such a tiny ball that it was difficult to find where he was.

"Blaine, you are positively miniscule when sleeping, aren't you?" I said, crawling across my bed and getting off of it right next to him. "Are you awake yet?" He didn't respond. "Ugh," I muttered. "Really, I've carried you so much in the past twelve hours I'm not sure how much more I can handle before I give up."

I felt around in the ball of fabric that was both Blaine and comforter for his knees and shoulders, and picked him up. A little more harshly than I should have, I tossed him onto his bed. "You awake now?"

He shook his head.

My response was to throw a pillow at him. "Well, I am. Thanks to you, Bed Stealer McStealypants." Wide awake and completely unable to fall back asleep, I made the executive decision to begin moisturizing and primping for the day.

Blaine, on the other hand, threw a pillow over his head and began to snore again.

"Sleep tight, beauty queen," I said with an eye roll.

I was about halfway through my routine when I heard my father walk in and say, "What the hell is this? I thought today was the day you were going to teach me all about brunch!"

"I'll be down in a sec," I said, peering out from behind the wall separating my bathroom from my bedroom. My dad looked more confused than I'd ever seen him.

Oh. Blaine in my bed.

Probably a problem.

I heard rustling, and saw Blaine punch the pillow away from himself. "Where am I?" he muttered.

"Oh, uh" said my dad, looking disturbed, "I'm sorry. My bad." He backed out of my room with this look on his face like someone just spit in his soup.

When he closed the door, I finished my moisturizing routine and padded over to my bed in my slippers. "So, beauty queen," I said with my hands on my hips, "sleep well with all of my blankets?"

"Where am I?" Blaine asked. "Seriously, I barely remember anything from last night."

"You're in Narnia. I'm Tumnus the faun. Would you like some Turkish Delight?"

"The White Witch had the Turkish Delight," muttered Blaine into my pillow, "get your references right."

"You're at my house, you Captain Hammered."

He blinked up at me. "And what, you're Doctor Horrible?"

"Not Hammer," I said, wanting to hit my head on the wall, "hammered. Like as in holy Menzel you kissed Rachel and did a weird little jumping dance in front of everyone, drank the Red Sea dry, drunk hammered.."

To my horror, a goofy little grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I did kiss Rachel, didn't I?"

"Yes," I said, guardedly. "Yeah, on a dare."

The grin didn't leave, but he shook his head and fell back against the pillows. "Oh, god, the headache," he moaned, cuddling back under my sheets.

"Out," I said. "Out of my bed."

"Rum fuff nuffle buff," he said into the pillow.

"Lost in translation, Blaine, you're speaking into a pillow."

"No, I don't want to."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you going to make me drag you out?" I asked.

Blaine at back up. "Fine," he said, "But I'm going to need coffee."

"Get your own," I joked, offering my hand to him. He took it and stood up out of the bed and wobbled a bit.

"Oh, wow, being vertical really makes the headache worse."

"Again, I think that's the alcohol," I said with a smirk.

I walked out of my bedroom, and Blaine followed closed behind, staring at the ground. When it came to the stairs, he groaned.

"Oh, god, I'm going to fall."

"Why?" I asked. "Are you still drunk?"

"No," he said. "I just feel dizzy and nauseated and…Oh, man, really sick. And – oh, where's the bath – "

"Right here," I said, pushing open the bathroom that only Finn used. Blaine rushed in and vomited, not nearly as violently as the night before, but still pretty bad.

"Well, that should clear it up," said Blaine, sarcasm oozing out of his voice. "I feel awful."

"You're hung over. Awful makes sense."

"Not this way…" he muttered. He stood up and dipped his head into the sink, turning on the water and greedily sipping at it.

"Was that the first time you ever drank?" I asked. It took him a few moments to answer, seeing as his face was still under the water.

"Yeah," he responded. "Do you have a towel, by the way?"

I turned around and looked at him. He was smiling sheepishly, water clinging to the curls in his hair. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the curls just enough to achieve that bed head that always got me weak in the knees.

Did he have to make it so hard for me?

"Um, h-here," I stammered, "It's Finn's towel."

Blaine stared at it, for some reason looking horrified. "Are you sure that's clean?" he asked. "I don't know about –"

"Oh my god, Blaine, he's a teenage boy, not a pervert," I said. "Sheesh, and I thought I was the stereotypical only child."

Blaine put up his hands in surrender. "Look, I only worry because I know how I –" He froze has he realized what he was saying, and I did everything I could not to laugh uncomfortably. I didn't exactly succeed. "Can we just pretend none of that happened and give me the damned towel?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

I handed over the towel with a knowing smirk and leaned against the doorframe as I watched him brush the towel over his hair and face to dry it.

"Want coffee now?" I asked as he dropped the towel in the sink.

"Hell yes," he said.

He pushed past me and stares at the steps descending downward again. "I'll go in front of you so you don't fall over," I said, stepping in front of him.

He didn't fall – he only wobbled a little bit. As the two of us walked into the kitchen, I heard Finn say, "He wasn't –"

"Hi, guys," I said, walking into the room. "Someone needs some coffee."

My father sat in front of me, his stare worrying me, to the point where Carole was the first one to respond. "Sure, honey," said my stepmother, "One cream, two sugars?"

"Not for me, Carole," I said with a smile, "For Captain Hangover over here."

Immediately her eyes turn behind me to Blaine. Her eyebrows shot up nearly into her hair and her mouth formed a small "o" in surprise. "H-hello, Blaine. How – you…You're here."

Blaine, his face red, "Um, yeah."

"Rachel had a, um," Finn looked over at me and I nodded, and he took the hint to continue, "a party. With, erm…"

"Booze, Finn. She had a party with booze. And Finn and I didn't drink because we wanted to remain a little bit useful while other people went loony." I nudged Blaine in the side, and he was blushing furiously. "Like this kid to my right."

"Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel," he said, "for crashing here last night. Kurt wanted me to not drive and took my car instead of driving with Finn. It was really nice of him – I kind of overdid it."

"And I took care of his puking butt all night," I muttered, but I didn't think anybody heard me.

"Well," said Carole with a smile, "It's good you have such a good friend like Kurt here."

Blaine looked at me, an expression I saw last night that I now understood. "Yeah," he said softly. "I do. Thanks Kurt."

I fought back a blush. "No problem, Senor Drinkypants."

"Could you stop with the nicknames?" said Finn. "I know you think they're hilarious, but you're sort of exhausting it all."

I folded my arms across my chest. "Blah, blah, Finn," I said, sticking out my tongue playfully at him.

"You two fight like siblings," muttered Blaine.

* * *

"So," I said to Blaine after my family had left. Breakfast had taken a while with the five of us, especially with Blaine downing at least two pots of coffee on his own. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

I knew immediately he didn't as he stared at me, letting his chin rest on his hand. "Huh," he said, "Like with Rachel? Because I remember…Most of that."

"Uhuh, uhuh," I said, leaning closer to him. "But what about everything else?"

He closed his eyes and pressed his palms to them. "Ugh, I know there was something really important," he began, "but I have no idea what it was." He looked up at me, looking concerned. "Did I say anything important last night?"

I opened and closed my mouth. At first I wanted to tell Blaine exactly what he said, just to see exactly how he'd react to my knowing that he'd admitted that there were feelings between the two of us, but I suddenly realized that it was a bad idea.

"No," I said, feeling something wrench in my gut as I pushed the word out, "You didn't say anything that important." I pasted a smile across my face, praying he wouldn't see through me like glass.

Blaine grinned at me. "Good. Thanks so much for being there for me, Kurt. You're an incredibly good person and friend."

I nodded, remembering all the things he'd said last night. "Yeah," I muttered, sipping my cup of coffee with a small smile on my face, "so are you."


End file.
